


Climbing Up the Walls series

by orbiting_saturn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:12:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbiting_saturn/pseuds/orbiting_saturn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a routine hunt, Sam is bitten by a sex demon. The venom's effects are almost immediate when it's delivered by bite and not kiss. They're immediate and devastating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Climbing Up the Walls

 

It should have been a simple hunt. And, Sam supposes, in the grand scheme of things, it is. It isn't as if he and Dean have never been tossed around by the monsters before. And when he considers that they're in the middle of fighting the Apocalypse with a capital A, it seems pretty fucking insignificant.

But that's where they went wrong. Thinking of this hunt as something almost too easy, too commonplace. They went in with Dean still nursing his bum knee, the one he'd reinjured during the zombie showdown at Bobby's. Sam hadn't had more than three hours of sleep and he thought if his vision was a bit blurred around the edges, it wasn't like he hadn't hunted sleep deprived before.

Dean had been the first to realize their mistake. After the cambion kicked him across the room and turned her attention to Sam, Dean had quickly pulled his cell from his pocket, speed dialed Castiel and spit out their location before scrambling back to his feet and rushing back into the fray.

By the time Castiel arrives, only seconds later, Dean is an unconscious heap on the floor and the cambion's razor-like teeth are embedded in Sam's shoulder. Sam's yell is almost like a roar to his ears, not so much from the pain, but more from the fury he has constantly rippling under the seams of his skin. And to go along with the fury is frustration; frustration that he now has to deal with the consequences of his clumsiness.

The cambion gets ripped away from him only a moment later, but too late. The sounds of Castiel dispatching the cambion are a faint whisper under the pulsing of his heart and blood and breath. The venom's effects are almost immediate when it's delivered by bite and not kiss. They're immediate and devastating.

Sam presses his palm against the bleeding wound in the curve of his neck and stares at the wall. It stings, but the pressure of his own calloused fingers against his flushed skin shoot a tendril of sensation straight to his groin.

 _Fucking cambion bitch._

"You've been bitten." Castiel's honey-gravel voice is like a kick to Sam's gut.

"Grab Dean and get out of here," Sam croaks. He won't turn and look at them, knows that if he does the _need_ will overwhelm him. And he's proven himself to be weak, time and time again.

"The heat will consume you quickly, Sam," Castiel tells him needlessly. Sam squeezes his eyes shut tightly, gives his head a sharp shake to clear the muddle of his thoughts, the thoughts of the warm flesh standing too closely behind him. It wouldn't be soft and malleable if he pressed his fingers into it, wouldn't give like the flesh of a woman. And the small part of him that's still just Sam is astounded at the direction of these thoughts, thoughts like he hasn't had since he let Mark Lueger blow him in college after too many beers and a shared joint.

"Fuck, Cas," Sam all but moans and stumbles up against the wall, leans his hot forehead against it with a thump. "Just go. Just…. _please go._ "

There's the rustle of cloth as Castiel moves, each sound has a punctuation in Sam's ears. Every swish ends in a period, every step with an exclamation mark. A hand lands on his shoulder, a hand that knows the consequences of its touch and sends a jolt straight to Sam's dick.

He's spinning, literally, spinning on the spot and grabbing fistfuls of ugly tan trench coat. And then he's twisting around and crowding all that hard, hot flesh against the wall. With the last shreds of his sanity, before he goes crazy all over the angel in his hands, he leans in and is surprised at the thready desperate sound in his voice. "If you stay, Cas, I'm going to fuck you into this wall.”

He thinks it was supposed to be a warning, but it's more a statement of true fact. Already he's dragging the trench down Castiel's arms, not sparing a moment for refusal or acceptance.

"It would be wise to hurry," Castiel says, not a hint of indecision in his voice. Not a hint of any other emotion, just the somber cadence of his customary sage advising. "The venom is spreading quickly.”

Sam's mouth attacks those cherry-plush lips into silence, lips that he's stared at before, chapped and pale pink, but really full. He nips the lower lip and sucks the upper, edges his tongue in between and it's hot inside, hotter than a normal person's mouth. Or maybe his tongue is hot and it's bleeding warmth into that wet crevice.

If he was thinking about it, he wouldn't know where to start, his sexual experience with men limited to that one chance encounter where he hadn't been expected to _do_ anything but lay back and let it happen. But he isn't thinking, like his body knows what to do because every touch, every lick, every nip is going straight to his cock.

His blood is pumping so fast, sweat tickling his over-heated skin and he pulls back from Castiel's mouth to gasp in air. "So fucking hot. Cas, I think I'm burning up," he mutters inanely.

Castiel has been placidly taking it, his limbs all loose, but his spine too rigid, because he still doesn't know how to hold himself like a human. Because he isn't human. He's got that empty look on his face that reminds Sam of his otherness, the power coiling beneath the lines of borrowed skin and bone and muscle. Usually Sam can find comfort in Castiel's detachment, but not right now when he wants to sink himself into that borrowed body, see how far he can go and maybe touch the grace of an angel while he's at it. And if he's coming completely unglued he wants to at least make Cas flinch a little.

"You should remove some of your clothes. It will ease your discomfort," Castiel suggests as his eyes follow a bead of sweat that slides down Sam's neck.

And if that isn't the best fucking idea Sam's ever heard, he doesn't know what is. He shucks his coat and then his flannel, gets a little tangled up in his t-shirt and curses the fact that he wears so many damned clothes. When the cool air hits his skin it's a momentary relief before he starts to heat up again.

He broke contact with Castiel to shed his layers, but his body is already swaying forward again. This time, he presses his hips forward and the thick line of his cock gets pressed into Cas' belly.

Cas tilts his head down and observes the way their bodies line up with each other. Sam isn't sure why he's not licking his way back into Cas' mouth, but he's pretty sure looking at the angel's face it just as satisfying.

Instead of kissing him again, Sam presses his forehead to Castiel's, palms his way down his chest, between their bodies and cups his dick. He's not hard and Sam is unprepared for how completely unacceptable that is to him.

His big, over-eager hands are clumsy on Castiel's belt and fly, but he manages to get the pants open. He hooks his thumbs in and takes boxers and slacks down in one go and then he's falling to his knees. Cas' muscles jump under Sam's hands, like he didn't expect this, but Sam is too intent on his task to look up.

He can take all of Cas in his mouth, even without any experience because he's soft and the weight of it on his tongue is making him even more impossibly hard, pressing harshly against the tight confines of his jeans. When he applies a little suction, the muscles in Cas' thighs jump again and he thinks he can feel him starting to swell.

"That isn't necessary, Sam," Castiel tells him in a voice that is steady, but quiet, just a shade above a whisper. That more than anything tells Sam that he's feeling it, feeling Sam's mouth around him.

Sam lets Castiel fall out of his mouth just long enough to say, "Have to. Have to make you want it too," practically incoherent before he dives back in and starts sucking forcefully.

Cas starts to grow harder and harder with each suck and each lick and Sam's greedy mouth isn't careful with his teeth, but it seems like that's good too because Castiel is lengthening up now. He slides up and down, hollowing his cheeks like maybe he really knows how to do this. When the head hits the back of his throat he thinks he hears Castiel suck in a breath, but he gets distracted when those long, elegant fingers, fingers that he's stared at before, are sliding into his hair.

Sam groans around his mouthful and lets Castiel's cock slip free with a popping sound. He presses his hands into the backs of Cas' knees, dragging him down, pulling until the other man is straddling him. It's awkward because Castiel's pants are still down around his ankles and it's probably the least graceful and most clumsy the angel's ever been in his vessel when he nearly stumbles and falls. But Sam isn't letting him go anywhere but where he wants him. He's strong and determined and he _needs_ to press his hard cock against something so desperately.

He's got one arm wrapped around a waist; one hand clutching messy black hair and his mouth is _devouring_ Cas' with an urgency that seems almost carnivorous. Again, Cas allows himself to be taken and Sam doubts that Cas could participate in such a dominating kiss even if he wanted to.

Instead of kissing back, Cas is reaching behind himself, shedding his shoes and pulling off his pants because he can't get his legs spread far enough to fully accommodate Sam's wide thighs. When he's free, Cas insinuates his hands between their bodies, it's a tight squeeze, but he's got power and determination on his side.

Sam is completely lost in the taste of angel on his tongue. Mouth, jaw, neck. Cas smells like summer rain and everything is hot, so freaking hot that he feels like he's melting inside.

Cas forces their bodies apart, just enough that he can undo Sam's jeans and push them down, freeing his throbbing cock. A breath is sucked in between clenched teeth and Sam is thrusting up, against nothing but air. He could cry, he's so desperate.

"You need to do it now, Sam." Castiel's voice is a rough scrape in his ear, his breath hot. Sam pitches them forward and presses Cas against the carpet and the crumpled up mess of trench coat. He moves his hand between Cas' spread thighs, but it gets slapped away. "You don't have to prepare me. There isn't time.”

Sam pushes himself up on his arms and stares down at Castiel, who is spreading his legs wider, pulling his knees up like he's done this before and knows exactly the position and angle. Then Cas does the most absurd and dirty thing Sam can imagine and spits into his own hand, wraps it around Sam's cock. It would be almost surreal enough to snap Sam out of his magically induced delirium if it wasn't so filthy _hot_.

Cas is lining him up, pressing the head of his cock to his hole. "Do it now, Sam," Cas urges and tilts his hips up. "Fuck me.”

He's completely mad for it now, pushing in and when those tight muscles clench around the head of his cock he sees honest to goodness stars. It's too tight and too dry, but he keeps going, sliding further until he is completely buried in Castiel's heat.

The friction is killing him, catching at his skin as he pulls back and thrusts again. It's a pleasure that's nearly pain and Sam can't get enough. His hips start a slow, uneven rhythm, in and out, back and forth and he cracks his eyes open just enough to look down at Cas through the veil of his lashes. The angel has that plump lower lip caught between sharp, white teeth and his lids are heavy.

Cas is holding his own legs up like something out of a raunchy porno as Sam rocks into him, his hard, weeping cock bobbing between them with the force of each thrust.

"Fuck, Cas," Sam groans as he hooks his arms under Cas' legs and takes the weight. "So hot. So tight.”

With his arms now freed, Cas presses them to the floor and uses them as leverage to push up and meet Sam's thrust. He speeds up the pace, seemingly immune to any discomfort in having a huge man dry-fuck him into the ground.

"You must achieve orgasm, Sam," Cas pants, _holy shit he's actually panting now._ "Your core temperature is dangerously high.”

Sam lowers himself onto his elbows, wraps his arm around Cas' thigh and fists his cock. The change in position makes Cas impossibly tighter. It also makes Cas huff out a surprised breath when Sam hits his prostate.

He's so close, so close, but he wants to make Cas come first. Needs to feel it. He pumps his fist, a slow juddery motion at first, but he gets the hang of it quickly.

Sam's hair is hanging around his face, sweat damp and tickling. He looks down at Castiel and is pleased by the glazed look in his heavy-lidded eyes. "Come for me, Cas," Sam pants.

A few more thrusts and then, amazingly, he does. A hot spurt of semen paints Sam's hand and the muscles of Cas' impossibly tight ass are fluttering all around Sam's dick. He thrusts harder, deeper and groans low and urgent and wrecked against the skin of Castiel's neck, practically drilling the smaller man into the floor with the force of his climax.

He spills himself into the body below him; the slim muscled, tight little body below him and he should squeeze his eyes shut, he thinks, but instead they fly open. Castiel is looking up at him, his oh-so blue eyes glimmering beneath his lashes. It isn't the first time that Sam has noticed he's beautiful, but when it happens this time, he jerks and swears he's coming again, but he can't be because that would be impossible.

Castiel's heels press into Sam's lower back, pull him forward and deeper and nurse him through the final jerks and spasms of his orgasm.

When it's over, Sam is gasping. He couldn't hold himself on his elbows any longer if the fate of the world depended on it so he tumbles forward, shaky and jittery and stuttering nonsense words into the damp skin under his lips.

Thoughts return to his head in schizophrenic little flashes, thoughts about his wrongness, about his uncanny ability to make the wrong choice _every fucking time._ Tears leak from the corners of his tightly shut eyes, trickling against Castiel's neck. Castiel begins to move beneath him, untangling their limbs and squeezing Sam's soft cock still buried inside. The feeling is too much against Sam's over-sensitized flesh and he lifts his hips just enough to pull out.

"You should have left me, Cas," he's mumbling into the dark place where Cas' shoulder meets his neck.

Castiel stills beneath him again, for a moment before he's bringing his hands up to soothe fingers through Sam's mop of sweaty hair.

"I would not leave you to suffer, Sam," Castiel tells him. "You are my friend.”

Sam huffs surprise and hysterical amusement at these words, pushes himself back onto his elbows to look down at Cas again. "You should choose better friends, Cas.”

Cas' smile is a barely there purse of his kiss bruised lips, it slightly crinkles in the corners of his eyes. It's not a real smile by any stretch of the imagination, but Sam has learned that this is about as emotive as the angel gets. "Beggars cannot be choosers," Cas counters wryly.

It isn't a funny joke, doesn't make any of this right in the very least, but it manages to ease some of the tension in his shoulders and Sam can finally bring himself to push up and away. "No, I guess not," he answers with a half smile that he doesn't feel.

As he's dragging his jeans back up, Sam glances at Cas from the corner of his eye and sees the angel already fully dressed, clothes mojo'd back on; looking completely unaffected and as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

A low groan from the other side of the room snaps Sam out of his brooding and everything that isn't concern for his brother just slips away. He's across the room and kneeling next to Dean, gently curling his finger under the base of his neck. "Dean, are you okay? Don't try to get up. Give yourself a minute.”

"Oooooh," Dean groans again, his eyelids flickering open and shut. "Can't believe we let that cambion get the jump on us. You okay, Sammy?”

Dean manages to keep his eyes open after a few seconds, squinting up at Sam. He furrows his brow. "Uh, Sammy? Where's your shirt?”

"Here you are, Sam," Castiel says and when Sam twists his head to look over his shoulder, Castiel is offering him the bunched up wad of his two shirts.

Sam feels the blush rise up his neck, but tries to manfully push it back.

"Oh, _dude!_ " Dean shouts and pushes himself up into a sitting position. He groans again and clutches his head. But his keen eyes are already flashing to the bite mark on Sam's bare shoulder and the gaping opening of the jeans he hasn't bothered to button back up.

"Dean, it's not-"

Dean raises the hand not pressed into his forehead to ward off Sam's explanation. "Never. Tell me." It's an order, and one that Sam's not particularly inclined to argue with. Instead he just leans over to help Dean to his feet. Cas moves forward to help him.

While he and Cas carefully maneuver Dean into a standing position, Sam's eyes keep catching glimpses of Cas' long fingered hands, the still slightly flushed skin of his neck, the push of that soft lower lip. And though he's noticed all of these things before, he can't help but think to himself, _I am so screwed._


	2. Only See My Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's POV for the events of Climbing Up the Walls.

 

Castiel does not appreciate the implication that he should drop whatever he is doing and appear when Dean demands it. The Winchesters have been hunting for their entire lives. They should not need to call him in on a run-of-the-mill monster hunt. To be utilized like just another tool in their arsenal is distasteful to Castiel.

Still, there is an urgency in Dean’s voice when he barks out their location on the other end of the cell phone. And so he does not hesitate to fly to them.

When Castiel arrives, he takes in the entirety of the situation in just over a millisecond and reacts immediately. Dean is unconscious, but a quick scan of his vitals shows that he is not in any immediate danger. The same cannot be said for Sam, who is attempting to grapple a female cambion off of his back. The creature’s teeth have pierced Sam’s left shoulder, Castiel notices as he clamps his hand around the slender neck of the beast and heaves it away from the younger Winchester.

The cambion rears up from the floor with a hiss in its throat, but stumbles back from its attack when it sees Castiel. She can see through the layers of skin and tissue and bone of his vessel, can see the impossible reality of Castiel’s true visage. Just as Castiel can see through the innocuously beautiful form of a woman to the abomination that festers beneath the surface.

The beast alters its course, seeking to escape Castiel’s might, but he is too quick for her. Castiel dives unerringly for the fallen silver blade that he spotted in his first perusal of the scene. He rolls in a graceful arc and regains his feet fluidly. The cambion freezes in the moment before its death, watches in horror as the blade flies from Castiel’s hand to slice through the meat of her chest. Castiel watches dispassionately as the creature throws its head back and lets loose a long shriek of pain and sorrow before it crumples to the floor.

When the lifeforce of the cambion blinks out, Castiel does not spare a fraction of a second to glory in his victory. One emotion that angels have never had a great shortage of is pride. But Castiel is different from his brothers and sisters. Has always been different, he realizes, now that he’s been given the opportunity for self-reflection. He takes little satisfaction in his victory. The emotion he chooses to indulge in instead is concern, as he turns his attention back to Sam.

Sam has his back towards Castiel, is a hunching bundle of tension as he presses a hand to the oozing bite on his shoulder. Castiel can smell the coppery tang of human blood and noxious scent of venom.

“You’ve been bitten,” Castiel states uselessly. He has been feeling that uselessness a lot recently.

Sam’s shoulders tense further at Castiel’s words. Castiel knows it is not so much the meaning of the words that affect Sam, as it is the sound of the words themselves. After a millennia of existence, Castiel has vaults of information available in his mind. He does not remember collecting the knowledge as a human might, through experiences and study. Perhaps he was created knowing.

The cambion is the offspring of incubi and succubi, bred with human men and women. They live human lives until they achieve puberty, at which point their demonic nature manifests. The venom they secrete through ducts in their distending fangs affect the neurotransmitters in the human brain, the mystical element heats the blood to lava until the sexual needs are satisfied or the heart stops, whichever comes first.

“Grab Dean and get out of here,” Sam demands, his voice hard-edged and slightly manic.

“The heat will consume you quickly, Sam.” Castiel sees Sam shake his head in a stilted jerk of movement. The strands of his long hair shift and settle against the pulsing thump at his jugular. Castiel never stops marveling at the genius employed in the construction of the human body. Sam is one of his father’s finest masterpieces.

“Fuck, Cas.” Sam’s voice catches and breaks, he stumbles forward, large hands curled into tight fists, and rests his head against the wall. His body is trembling almost convulsively. “Just go. Just…. _please_ go.”

Castiel tilts his head and thinks about the options. It is his nature to consider every strategy efficiently and employ the best course of action quickly and without hesitation. He could leave Sam here, let the poison eat through his arteries and burn out his heart. His brothers, either Michael or Lucifer would surely resurrect him eventually, but that would leave Sam in their custody. Or Castiel could sacrifice his chastity and save his friend.

He moves decisively and lays his hand upon Sam’s broad shoulder. It is tightly sinewed muscle beneath the bulk of Sam’s outer layers, firm and lively beneath Castiel’s grip.

The reaction in Sam is immediate, as Castiel knew it would be. Castiel tracks Sam’s movements easily, despite the swift agility of the human now grasping the lapels of his vessel’s trench coat. He allows himself to be carried away, turned and pressed forcefully into a wall. The surface beneath his back is hard and cold, Sam’s body against Castiel’s is pliant and hot.

Sam does not take him without warning, as most humans in his condition would. Castiel knows that, despite all of Sam’s impurities, he has a sense of honor. “If you stay, Cas, I’m going to fuck you into this wall.”

With Sam’s body pressed flush against his vessel, Castiel can easily gauge the rise in his body temperature. It seems to seep into his own flesh, flesh that Castiel has been feeling more intimately since his grace began to wane. The temperature is already 6.5 degrees higher than the average human body temperature. “It would be wise to hurry,” he tells Sam.

The trench coat he has been wearing since he claimed Jimmy Novak as his vessel is removed by Sam’s grasping hands in a swift pull. The mouth that captures Castiel’s is slim-lipped and forceful. He compares this kiss to the one he received from the prostitute, Chastity. It is not nearly as offensive. Castiel had not liked the chemical taste of the whore’s lipstick or the nicotine on her breath.

Sam’s tongue is cleaner and tastes like spring water and a hint of peppermint chewing gum. Castiel appreciates that Sam shows great care for the body he was blessed with. When he isn’t corrupting it with demon’s blood.

Sam pulls back, pants hot breath into Castiel’s still open mouth. “So fucking hot. Cas, I thinking I’m burning up,” Sam mumbles harshly into the space between their mouths. Sweat is beading on Sam’s skin, a moist droplet trickles into the collar of his shirt.

“You should remove some of your clothes,” Castiel suggests. “It will ease your discomfort.” It seems like an obvious conclusion and he sees it as a testament to Sam’s distraction that he didn’t think of it himself.

The reaction to his words is instantaneous. Castiel watches with his back still pressed against the wall. Sam drags off his thick jacket, peels off the flannel and skims the tight t-shirt up. There is a moment where Sam’s elbow gets hooked in the hem and he struggles with the fabric. Castiel lets his eyes skim down the other man’s chest, the muscles of his abdomen jump and ripple in reaction to the cool air against his heated skin. He is fascinated by the sudden urge he has to touch, to slide the tips of his fingers down the graceful rise and fall of skin over muscle. He does not give into this impulse.

Upper half now bare and gleaming with sweat in the dim glow of the street lights that filter through the curtains, Sam sways back against Castiel. The press of Sam’s engorged sex against his abdomen draws Castiel’s gaze downward. In moments, his body will be breached by this large, hot flesh. It is an intriguing prospect.

Sam leans down and presses his forehead against Castiel’s. He lets his lids slide shut and experiences the sensation of this action. Breaths puffing against his lips, lips that still tingle from kisses. It is comforting and intimate. Castiel thinks he likes this more than anything.

Large hands palm their way down Castiel’s chest and stomach, calluses scratching over the cotton of his shirt. One hand curls around the jut of his hipbone, the other continues down to cup his crotch. A low guttural sound rises in Sam’s throat and his fingers attack Castiel’s belt, clumsily opening up his slacks. He seems eager to commence with intercourse. This makes sense, as Sam’s temperature has gone up another sixth of a degree.

As Sam succeeds in opening his pants, slides his thumbs in and drags them down his hips, Castiel thinks he should be more concerned about what is going to happen. Before, the mere prospect of human copulation had set his feathers humming to a nervousness so discomforting that he had nearly inhaled a beer that could in no way impair him. But now, he seems strangely at ease with the situation. The slow slide of Sam sinking to his knees before him jars him out of his ruminations. This was not expected.

His sex is sucked entirely into Sam's hot, moist mouth and Castiel's muscles jump without his volition. He tilts his head down, watches in fascination at Sam kneels before him, worshipping his flesh. Sam should be focusing on taking his own pleasure right now, but Castiel is surprised that he doesn't wish for him to stop.

"That isn't necessary, Sam." Part of him thinks if he says it quietly enough, Sam might not hear him, but he will still have made the effort, instead of greedily accepting something like this for himself. But, oh, he does not want Sam to stop.

Sam does hear him though, pulls away and that wet, hot mouth is gone when he mutters words into Castiel's pelvis. "Have to. Have to make you want it too." And then that mouth is back, that sinful mouth. It sucks and licks and Castiel lets his guards down to fully experience each sensation. His penis is swelling, jumping, pulsing. He can feel a pressure rising in his belly. There's a scrape of teeth against his flesh and he almost groans.

Castiel cannot seem to take his gaze away from Sam as he slides his mouth up and down his length, the beautiful hollows of his cheeks and glistening sheen of saliva on his stretched lips. He is filled almost to the brim with tenderness for this man who is so thoughtful to give Castiel this pleasure, even as he suffers from a powerful lusting spell that would break most men. Castiel sucks in a breath and raises his hand to let his fingers glide into that long, silky hair. These Winchester men amaze him.

Sam groans at the contact, the vibrations humming against Castiel's engorged flesh before the mouth is gone again. He feels the pressure of Sam's fingers at the back of his knees, pulling him down. He's not prepared and Castiel is so distracted that he very nearly falls to the side, but Sam has his strong sure hands on his hip, tipping him back immediately and dragging him into his lap. Sam's mouth collides against his with a force that is bruising, his tongue tastes sharp and salty now. Castiel realizes it is the taste of his own semen.

Pressed close like this, Castiel can better feel the heat coming off of Sam's bare chest. It is scorching, even through the material of his shirt. It takes his attention away from the pleasure of his own body and he barely registers Sam's roaming kisses as he quickly removes his own shoes, slacks and underwear.

He has no practical experience with intercourse, but he knows the mechanics, has seen it done hundreds, possibly thousands, of times. He knows it must be him who moves things along before Sam truly burns out. Sam is pressing them so tightly together that it is a little awkward trying to insert his hands between their bodies. It is necessary for him to use his own superior strength to pull far enough away that he can disengage the button and zipper of Sam's jeans. The other man is quite truly lost to his passion as he thrusts into the empty space between them.

"You need to do it now, Sam," Castiel tells him is his most commanding tone. The reaction is instantaneous, Castiel is up-ended and pressed to the floor in only a matter of seconds. When he sees Sam's hand move between his thighs, Castiel predicts its trajectory and slaps it away. How this man keeps concerning himself with Castiel's comfort and shows so little regard for his own dire situation, he will never understand. "You don't need to prepare me," Castiel states, a little irritably. "There isn't time."

Castiel quickly sifts through the vaults of his seemingly unending knowledge and finds what he thinks is the most suitable position to place himself in. He may not understand the why, but he can certainly grasp the how. Spreading his thighs, he tilts his hips up, feeling a little ridiculous and undignified with his backside so exposed and in the air. There is no lubricant available to him, so he does what he's seen others do and spits a mouthful of saliva into his palm and wraps it around Sam's alarmingly large erection, guiding the moistened tip to his entrance.

When he looks back up into Sam's face, he sees his pupils are blown with lust. He seems so out of his mind with arousal that he is at a loss for what to do. "Do it now, Sam," he coaches encouragingly. "Fuck me."

Then it happens. Sam is pressing in and Castiel is reminded of his own body once more. The hot push of hard flesh slides into him, stretching him, skin catching against skin, burning and opening him. It would be easy enough to shut off the pain, but then he would also be shutting off of the sensations shooting straight to his own forgotten erection. He spreads himself wider and pulls his legs up and the new, better angle allows Sam to bury himself further.

Each jerking thrust into him makes the pleasure more acute, he can feel his testicles tightening. His lip starts to tremble and he catches it with his teeth, wanting nothing to distract him from the feel of Sam filling him, over and over, harder and harder each time.

There's a short stutter in the rhythm when Sam changes their position, hooks his arms under Castiel's thighs and takes the weight. He snaps his hips harshly against Castiel, impaling him. "Fuck, Cas," Sam growls, his voice almost unrecognizable. "So hot. So tight."

Castiel finds that the "dirty talk" excites him even more. He presses his hands against the floor and pushes up eagerly, wanting more. Wanting it, no, _needing_ it to be harder and faster. Sam is going to come inside of him, he is going to use Castiel as the receptacle for his lust. This man, this glorious creation. He knows he should not feel honored, knows that Sam is an abomination and is beneath him, but in this moment, this moment with their hot tandem breathing and thrusting bodies, he does not feel it. He wants it, wants Sam to take his pleasure in him and fill him with his seed.

"You must achieve orgasm, Sam," he hears himself say. His own voices sounds strange to his ears. Every inch of Sam is burning a path across Castiel's skin. "Your core temperature is dangerously high."

Castiel nearly jumps out of his vessel when Sam's hand wraps around his cock. His hips tilt even higher and then Sam hits that bundle of nerves inside and he can't even pretend anymore that this is not affecting him. Sam is stroking him in time with his thrusts and it's all too much, _how do they stand it?_ he wonders. His body is working without thought, pushing up against that blissful grip and hard pound.

"Come for me, Cas," Sam demands desperately. And he knows that Sam will wait for him, because that is just the type of man he is, but Sam must not wait any longer. So, Castiel drops the last shreds of his shields, humps up against Sam and lets the pleasure take him. There's a tug in his abdomen and then white-hot pleasure as he releases, his semen spurting hot and urgent from his deprived vessel. _Thank you, God._

He had always thought it blasphemous when humans cried his father's name during sex, but now he knows. In that moment, in that perfect, blissful moment of release, faith is not a choice, it is an absolute necessity. Because how could there be anything so wondrous in creation if there was no God?

Castiel is so caught up in his own wonder that he nearly misses it when Sam climaxes, but the shuddering slap of flesh against his flesh brings him back. He gazes up at Sam, his sweaty, twisted features and the deep black of his blown pupils. Sam shudders again and Castiel pulls him further in with his heels, lets his inner muscles squeeze and milk his orgasm from him. It is surprising how naturally this comes to him. His vessel just seems to know what to do.

Sam collapses against him, gasping and shaking and spent. The press of Sam's face against his neck is jarringly intimate. He is whispering, muttering words that Castiel can barely make out. He catches a few that sound like, "sorry", "amazing", "wrong" and "love". They make little sense to him, but Sam seems to have no control over himself at the moment.

Now that the heat of the moment has past, Castiel begins to feel a little awkward about his splayed position. He can feel Sam's soft member still inside him, along with his seed. He would like very much to get up now, but Sam does not seem much inclined to move. Thankfully, he does seem to have enough sense to remove himself from within Castiel.

He takes a moment to read Sam's temperature. It has already decreased by several degrees.

"You should have left me, Cas," Sam speaks, his face still hidden against Castiel's neck.

It would seem that the shame is now setting in. Castiel knew that this was inevitable. The Winchesters wear guilt, shame and self-loathing like a fashionable garment. Castiel wishes this were not so, but knows it is not within his power to alleviate. Castiel can only offer truth in place of comfort.

"I would not leave you to suffer, Sam. You are my friend." If he has allowed his fingers to sift through Sam's hair once more, he feels satisfied that it is only a small offering of comfort.

Sam's laugh is only mildly manic when he pushes up and looks down upon Castiel. "You should choose better friends, Cas."

Castiel has not chosen Sam as a friend. He would never have done so. Better to have Sam as a friend than no friends at all. They are brothers in arms now. He repeats a colloquialism that he has heard many times before. "Beggars cannot be choosers."

Some of the tension seems to drain from Sam's shoulders and he raises himself back to his knees. Free of the burden of Sam's weight now, Castiel stands and clothes himself with a short snap of his grace.

When Dean wakes, Sam goes to him, as he always does. Castiel watches them with as much detachment as he can muster. These two men have become all he has. It should be humiliating, he thinks, but watching them with each other, the care and love they have for each other, even with all of the pain and deceit they have dealt to one another, Castiel cannot feel regret for his choice. He is sure he will, but he does not feel it at this time. He feels, strangely, satisfied.


	3. Best When the Light is Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now the only thing Sam can think about is the way he's hovered around Castiel since _that_ night.

Sam has stopped shouting, no point now the taillights have faded. But he can still feel the scratch in his throat, the tickling dryness clawed out by his thrumming, desperate voice. He's just panting now, staring in the direction that the Impala went. He wants to believe that Dean will come to his senses and turn back around, thinks if he just keeps standing there, staring, he might be rewarded for once in his sorry, miserable existence. But he knows he's wrong. Everything about him has always been wrong.

"Sam?" A voice behind him and he snaps his head around. Pastor Gideon stands in front of the motel door. "I think there's something wrong with your angel friend."

He can only stare back, no answer because his voice is just gone, swallowed down when he could no longer stand the futility of its furious shouts. His neck is sore, knows the cords of his tendons are tensed to the point of breaking, can feel the pulse in his jugular pounding out a stilted staccato under his skin.

Gideon stares back at him for a moment, shoves his hands in his pockets, winces when the action pulls the wound in his arm. For a moment Sam thinks the pastor will try to offer him some words of comfort, just out of habit, but then again. "I'm going home," he says, tenses, turns and walks away.

Sam watches him for a moment, walking down the middle of a deserted street, shoulders hunched down. He is broken now too, just like Dean, just like Sam. And there will be more. And it's his fault. He glances back in the direction that Dean fled. The street is still empty, mocking him and his misery.

When he turns back to the motel room, his heart stutters and starts to pound furiously. Everything about him seems furious, the clenching of his fists, the grind of his teeth in his mouth, the dry sting in his eyes that he wishes would just get it over with and cry, but don't. His footfalls sound heavy and stupidly loud in the quiet that surrounds him. His grip on the knob of the door is too tight, like he could snap the thing off if he exerted just a fraction more of force. Maybe he could. He doesn't try, just twists and shoves and the door is swinging in and bouncing off the wall with a harsh thwanging sound.

Castiel is standing on the other side the room, his back to Sam, just staring at the wall. Just staring. And Sam knows that he knows. He's relieved he doesn't have to tell him.

The light from the lamp stings Sam's eyes and it's sort of the last straw because he's been set to snap since he heard the roar of the Impala coming to life. He's across the room in a moment, seizing the lamp at its cheap wooden base and yanking it clear from the wall. The light is snuffed and everything is dark and shadows once again, just like Sam has become used to and it makes him glad. The lamp feels small and ridiculous in his over-large hand, which kind of pisses him off even more and he throws it against the opposite wall. The bulb shatters and glass tinkles onto the sofa, in the dented shade and against the busted frame. It's good and truly destroyed, like Sam wants everything to be.

He lets the red around the edges in, lets it take him and his body is moving under it, lashing out at everything in his way. It's all a blur of satisfied rage as his boots lash against the furniture, kicking over a chair, upending the coffee table and snapping off the leg. His hands close around the splintered wood and he uses it as a weapon on the offensive walls, counters, everything and anything solid. But it isn't enough so he drops it, curls his fingers into fists and punches the wall, over and over.

Skin splits over his knuckles, stinging down to his bones, pain twisting around the hot ball of anger in his chest. Dean is gone and with him the last shreds of Sam's flagging hope, because his brother has no faith in him. His one and only tether has been severed and Sam feels set adrift under the pulsing waves of fury, waves that have been rising with each day, hour, minute. And he could say 'yes', he could let Lucifer in and feel his own misery overshadowed by Lucifer's. And that's what's always been so seductive about saying 'yes' in the first place and why Sam was made to be the devil's vessel, because only Lucifer's misery could eclipse his own.

His hands are in tatters, bleeding and covered in plaster from the walls that broke under each strike. But he doesn't stop, can't stop, wants the pain, wants to break everything the way he's been broken. And he almost forgets that his hands aren't the only hands in the world, until he's being gripped tight by another set, smaller but stronger than his and suddenly he's flying across the room. When he impacts with the wall and falls to the floor, it feels almost nice because he remembers that his hands and his heart aren't the only parts of him that can hurt.

After the initial shock, he's starting to push himself back up. He doesn't realize that tears are in his eyes until he looks up and sees a blur of Castiel bearing down on him. Those hands seize him again and he's being flipped around, pressed to the floor from chest to knee. He struggles by instinct, but then he's caged to the floor when Castiel straddles his lower back, grips his wrists and holds them against the floor above Sam's head.

The angel is stretched across Sam's back, his face hovering behind his ear, puffing breaths stir the hairs against his neck. The hands that hold him are firm, but not harsh. There is no feeling in their grip, almost like they're simply performing a task instead of burning need into Sam's skin. "There is no point to this," Castiel mutters in his ear and the words drag a groan from Sam.

He's pinned against the floor, under the spread of Castiel's thighs and those hands, suddenly the only hands in the world now. Sam has thought time and time about those hands on him, what they had felt like against his skin, gripping him and pulling him in. There's been no excuse to have them on him again until this moment, without the cambion's venom burning out his blood, but he wanted them nonetheless. They dull the throb of his hurt, even if it's only momentary and now the only thing he can think about is the way he's hovered around Castiel since that night.

"Cas." His voice is a quiet gasp against the carpet. "Please."

The hold on him stays firm and dispassionate. Sam's getting hard in his jeans. "I won't let you up until I know you are going to stop hurting yourself," Castiel warns.

Sam presses his forehead against the floor and shakes his head. "No, but-" He doesn't know how to ask for what he wants.

"What is it, Sam?"

He pushes up against the body behind his, not trying to free himself, just trying for more contact. Then he pushes his hardening cock against the floor for friction. It's too hard and not what he needs. What's the point of a fucking emotional breakdown if you can't say what you want to? "Cas, will you fucking touch me? _Please?_ "

"I _am_ touching you," Castiel answers back. His voice is still right next to Sam's ear, that low rumble all sexy and flat.

Sam hates that he has to spell it out. He's never been good at coming out and saying what he wants. He's always relied too much on using his eyes and body language to convey his interest. It's not until this moment that he realizes that he has never made the first move when it comes to sex. He's always left it up to his partners. Even the last time, it had been Cas who had closed the distance. He licks his lips. "Not like that," he explains. "Like you did before. When the cambion bit me."

Castiel is silent for an immeasurably long time and Sam starts to feel the misery wind itself up for another attack. And then, "You wish to have sex again?"

He practically hisses his response, pressing up again. " _Yes._ Fuck yes."

The silence is not as long this time before Cas says, "All right."

The grip on his wrists is suddenly gone and Cas is lifting up just enough to turn Sam onto his back. When he presses back down his ass is fitted right against Sam's cock. He doesn't resist the urge to push up against it. He looks up at Cas, amazed that he's agreed to give Sam what he so desperately wants. But why he should be surprised, he doesn't know. The angel has given him this before, he just never dreamed it would happen again without a life or death situation.

Cas' gaze finds his and it doesn't leave as he shrugs out of trench coat and tosses it aside. "Would you like to be inside of me again?" he asks, while loosening his tie and pulling it off.

Sam grabs Cas' thighs in a too-tight grip, presses his pelvis up against the invitingly soft flesh. "Yes."

Those long elegant fingers go to the buttons of his shirt, starts slipping them open, one at a time. He pulls it off along with the blazer. "You don't want my mouth this time?"

With a gasping breath, Sam releases one thigh and grabs Cas' neck, pulls him down and takes his mouth. Those plump lips give against his, open and let his tongue slide deep in. Rather than taking it like last time, Cas moves his tongue too, curling it against Sam's, still tasting a bit like whiskey.

Still gripping Cas' neck, Sam lets his other hand slide up between them, skirts his fingers over Cas' bare abdomen. He hadn't seen or felt the angel's naked chest the last time. He skims higher and thumbs against a nipple as their mouths continue to slowly fuck each other. Cas has planted both of his hands on either side of Sam while they kiss, he tilts his hips back and now Sam's cock is nestled beside a matching hardness. Maybe Cas is still a little buzzed because the last time it had taken Sam sucking him before he was hard.

Cas breaks the kiss and whispers against Sam's mouth. "Tell me what you want, Sam. I can do anything with this body. Give you anything you want."

He lets his eyes flutter shut and roll blissfully into his head. It makes no sense for an angel to be the dirtiest lay that Sam has ever had. Now that he has permission, Sam can be dirty too. He drags Castiel flush against him and answers in a lust-rough voice. "First, I want you to suck me. Then, when I'm good and wet, I want to fuck you."

Cas gazes down at him for a moment, his lids heavy and eyes dark. "I am amenable to that," he finally answers. He pulls away from Sam, crawls backwards down his body and Sam pushes himself up on his elbows to watch the movement of carefully hidden musculature pulling the too-soft, pale skin tight over Cas' arms and chest. Jimmy has a slender, wiry frame honed by recreational exercise. Probably from jogging and biking and kayaking, shit like that. No weight lifting, push-ups or years of military-style training, like him. "Remove your clothes," Castiel demands and his own hands are going to the fly of his slacks.

His hands are quick and over eager as he hauls off his over shirt, the buttons popping off and pinging like bullets against the wall. Cas' eyes follow his movements as he drags his t-shirt off, leans down to pull off his boots, without unlacing them. Sam's hands stutter against his fly, trembling as he watches Cas push his own pants and underwear down his skinny hips. Sam has never thought of another man as beautiful before, but he knows better than anyone that some things change.

If Sam had his way, he would make this last all damn night. He'd lay Cas out and run his fingers over every dip and curve of that narrow chest, slide his tongue down both of the slight crevices that frame that thatch of dark pubic hair, let himself feel the weight of Cas' cock in his mouth again. But Sam's body is screaming for release, so instead he pulls off his own jeans.

As soon as they are both naked, Cas comes at him with a quiet determination. Not a muscle in his face twitches or reacts while he presses Sam back against the carpet. "Would you like to kiss again?"

"Don't ask stupid questions, Cas," Sam groans and drags him down for a hot, open-mouthed tongue-fucking. When Sam breaks off for a much-needed breath, Cas lowers himself down Sam's body. He doesn't bother trailing kisses down chest, no tongue sliding nips over his torso as most lovers would do, just zero to sixty in two seconds flat and his cock being sucked into that hot, wet mouth. Sam shouts at the assault of pleasure, kicking him in his gut, and let's his head fall against the floor with a thump.

For the first minute or so, it's painfully obvious that Cas has never done this before. The teeth come into play a little too much, but it seems like even that little pain-tinged pleasure is enough to make Sam's head explode. But the learning curve for angels is kind of unreal because Cas is suddenly blowing him better than he's ever had, wet and sloppy, tongue swiping his slit before he dives down and deep throats the shit out of him. _No fucking gag reflex_ , Sam thinks deliriously.

Just when Sam thinks he won't be able to hold back his climax, Cas lets up on the suction, pulls off and just licks tantalizingly over Sam's length. And he can't resist the urge to raise his head from the floor, slit his eyes open and watch the angel suck him off. He probably shouldn't have done that because he almost comes just from watching that messy haired head bob back down on his dick. But the suction still isn't there, Cas is just moving his mouth over him, getting him good and wet like Sam told him.

Cas' eyes flicker up to meet Sam's and then he's reaching up, pressing two fingers against his lips. Sam opens his mouth and those fingers are slipping in, around and under his tongue. Sam focuses on the fingers in his mouth instead of the mouth still around his dick, keeps his gaze on the eyes staring up at him and not the pink lips stretched around him. He sucks Cas' fingers the way Cas has been sucking him, the way he'd like to suck Cas. He toys with the notion of flipping them into a sixty-nine position so they can suck each other off, but then the fingers are pulled away.

The hand around the base of his cock slips away and is pressed against the flat of his belly and Sam's neck is getting tired from holding his head up off of the ground, but he doesn't rest it because he can't stop staring. Because Cas is reaching around himself, using those spit wet fingers to open himself up. Sam is clawing at the carpet, thrusting up into Cas' slack mouth, staring at the impossible sight of Cas finger fucking himself.

The muscles of Cas' shoulder tense and relax as he thrusts into himself and that mouth has fallen open on a rasping inhale. Hot breath against Sam's wet, hard cock. "Are you wet enough, Sam?" Cas asks.

He can't answer for a minute, too mesmerized by the way Cas' body is moving, thrusting back against his own hand. His mouth open and gasping a little, his eyes fluttering open and closed and Sam can see that he likes it, the way it feels. "Sam?"

"Yeah," he finally manages around a ragged breath. "Come on, Cas."

When he pulls out, Cas' eyes drift shut and he moans a little. But then he's crawling back up over Sam. He reaches for Sam's cock 'cause he's kind of a toppy little bitch, but Sam already has this. He looks down, lines himself up and lifts his hips. When the head slips in, Cas grunts a little and Sam doesn't think it's from pain. Cas lowers himself inch by inch and despite all of the prep, it's still a little too dry because spit makes for shitty lube, but it doesn't matter all that much because nothing matters but Sam pushing up until he's all the way in.

"Fuck," he groans and finally lets his head fall back to the floor.

Sam knows that Cas has been watching humans fuck for thousands of years, but there is no way that he should know how to ride a cock like this. As Cas moves up and down, rolling his hips and grinding down, Sam knows that he won't last long and grasps Cas' thighs to slow his movements.

It's hot and it's good, but it's not what Sam wants this time. Cas has been slowly undoing Sam for months and he's starting to get a little tired of being so completely _owned_ by angels. So, instead of laying back and taking it, Sam pushes up into a sit and drags Cas down, thrusts up hard. Cas lets him, gasps and clenches around him. Sam uses his grip on Cas' hips to lift him and pull him back down, harder this time, maybe a little too hard, but it feels fucking good because he's deeper than before.

Cas wraps his arms around Sam's shoulders, lets his forehead fall against his. "Harder, Sam," he demands in that gravel voice that sends a jolt straight to Sam's dick.

This position is too tight, not enough room for him to pull out and push back like he wants to. Franticly, Sam uses his over-abundance of strength to push Cas off of him. He hisses displeasure when his cock slips out of Cas' tight heat. "What are you doing?" Cas asks, gasping and irritated.

Sam doesn't answer, just spins Cas around and pushes him down to his hands and knees. He takes a small moment to drink in the sight of Cas like this, with his ass in the air and then he's moving in behind him, lining himself back up and pushing in again. Yes, this is the way he wants it.

"Ahhhhh," Cas groans as Sam pushes deeper than ever, leans down on his forearms and let's Sam pull almost all the way out before snapping his hips forward again.

He fucks Cas in long, fast thrusts, gripping his hips, watching himself disappear in and out of that hot little ass. Cas tries to push back, but can't find the rhythm, hips stuttering each time Sam hits that sweet spot inside him. It's hot and sweet and fucking everything Sam needs, especially when Cas starts to let out a gentle chant of 'ohs' every time Sam pushes in, hard and fast.

Sam leans down far enough that he can whisper in Cas' ear, biting his lip in pleasure every time Cas clenches around him. "Are you gonna come, Cas? Are you close?" He punctuates each word with a harsh thrust.

"Yes," Cas pants, voice low and something close to desperate. At least as close to desperate as the angel has ever been. "Yes, Sam. Oh! Oh! Fuck!"

And then Cas is coming hard, muscles fluttering and clenching around Sam, pushing and jerking back against him, back bowing under the pressure. The sight and feel is too much for Sam and he falls forward against Cas' back, pushing deep in and pumping with each pulse of his orgasm. He sinks his teeth into Cas' shoulder, the angel sighs and trembles under him.

In the last aftershocks of his climax, Sam wraps his arms around Cas' waist and topples them to the side. He doesn't slide free right away, lets his softening cock stay inside Cas as he suckles gently at the blood seeping from his bite mark.

"Do you feel any better?" Cas asks in a voice that isn't quite steady. It makes Sam smile against his skin, that little catch in his voice. It reminds him that Castiel is just a little more human than he was the last time they did this.

"Actually," Sam says, still mouthing the angel's shoulder a bit. "I do. I really, really do." His arms tighten around Cas.

"We could stay here until the end. If you wish," Cas suggests in a voice barely above a whisper. He sounds almost wistful, like he knows it is a hopeless desire, but would like very much to lay down his sword and let the end come.

"As nice as that sounds, Cas, you know we can't. We have to go find Dean before he says 'yes' to Michael."

Cas sighs, presses his back closer to Sam. "Very well. I will keep fighting. For you now, Sam."

"Cas-"

"If I cannot place my trust in Dean, or my father, I will place it in you. Because I must have faith in order to fight. Promise me you will not say 'yes'. Promise me and for Heaven's sake, please mean it."

Sam's throat closes up tight, but he nods into the side of Castiel's neck. He promises and he means it. Because it is nice to have someone place their trust in him. If Cas can do it, he knows that Dean can do it again. And there might just be hope for them all if that can happen.


	4. The Smile of a Local Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is feeling things now as a human does. Sam wants to not disappoint him. But he also wants to take so much from him, from his fine slender body, because this is it.

The upstairs bathroom in the Singer residence is just like every bathroom in every old house. The insulation of chipped ceramic tiles makes it cool in the summer and downright frigid in the middle of winter. The narrow heating grates hum and smell funny and don’t produce enough hot air. There’s a deep, claw-footed tub with a plaid shower curtain that hangs from a ring and encircles it completely. The showerhead is attached to a set of exposed copper pipes that will bite you with heat if you accidentally brush against them during a shower.

Sam splashes water over his face, clearing away the sticky residue of shaving cream. He looks at his reflection in the tarnished mirror. If Lucifer’s going to wear him to the prom, he might as well tidy up a bit, do a little spring-cleaning. Can’t have the Lord of Hell running around in a messy meatsuit. Even joking about it in his head makes Sam a little nauseous. It’s a knot of sickness in his sternum that hasn’t gone away since he got the bright idea to say ‘yes’ to the devil.

He starts to stare at his face, in a way that he hasn't in a really long time. He's used to this face in the mirror. Sure, it's changed, but it's always been his. He wonders what it will look like with Lucifer steering the ship. Will Lucifer look as at home in his body as he does in Nick's? Will his thin lips push out the right way, the way they do when Lucifer is trying to be serious? Will his narrow eyes round out the way they should when Lucifer is trying to be sincere? If the popular theory is correct, the theory that Sam was made for Lucifer, his face will mold perfectly to the moods and whims of the angel. But Sam thinks he will look strange.

He's probably wrong. Jimmy Novak was a simple kind of guy, who had a mouth that tipped up for smiling. Sam knows because he has crinkles around his eyes that Cas certainly didn't put there. In the short time that Sam knew Jimmy, he got the impression that he was pretty normal. He shrugged a lot and had a lilting sort of walk and a clear, clean voice. He was the exact opposite of Cas. And yet, the vessel was perfectly suited to the angel. The body lithe and graceful, the brows strong and perfect for scowling, those clear blue eyes that shine bright, like the only hint of an angel in residence. And that mouth, that purses just so. If Cas could so flawlessly smooth Jimmy Novak into a taciturn servant of Heaven, Lucifer shouldn't have any problems with making himself right at home in Sam's skin.

There's a rattling sound that drags Sam's gaze away from the mirror and down to the iron doorknob. He'd locked it out of habit, because Dean has boundary issues and is constantly bursting in on him. He has no problems with seeing Sam naked and no qualms about walking around without clothes. Sam knows it would be more natural for it to NOT bother him, but it does and he'd rather not examine why. There's a light rapping on the other side of the door.

Sam slides the lock and pulls the door open to find Cas standing on the other side, hands shoved into the pockets of his trench coat. He looks smaller than Sam remembers him being. Perhaps all of that grace was inflating him, rounding him out around the edges, all those sharp skinny angles that Jimmy had been fine with wearing.

"Bobby suggested I shower," Cas explains when Sam peeks out at him around the edge of the door. "Apparently, I smell like "a bag full of ass"," he concludes with a sour tilt of his lips.

A chuff of unexpected humor escapes Sam's throat, his lips curl into a small smile. Cas looks less than amused and knocks the door fully open, steps past Sam into the bathroom and pushes the ugly shower curtain out of the way. "Show me how this thing works," Cas demands irritably.

Cas has been even more irritable since he returned. He's having trouble coming to terms with his near-humanity. Sam closes the door and leans against it, twitches a bit at the cold discomfort against his bare back. He blinks at Castiel's petulance and regrets that he won't be around to see what other emotions he'll grow into.

" _Well_?" Cas turns to Sam, impatient and expectant.

"You know, you're kinda cute when you're being demanding," Sam says with a smirk.

Cas rolls his eyes heavenward and sneers a little. "Perfect. I'm now reduced to 'cute', like a puppy or an infant."

Sam pushes away from the door and slides into Cas' personal space, grasps the lapels of the trench coat and begins to tug it off. "Snide and sour isn't nearly as attractive as demanding, Cas."

"Are you angling for further sexual contact? Because I must tell you, mocking me is not the best strategy."

Sam's smile twitches even wider. "Surly, I like. Surly I can work with."

Cas' mouth is poised to speak again, to no doubt deliver more crankiness in Sam's general direction. He decides to put that off for later and leans down to kiss away the words. He curves his hand around the base of Cas' skull and it fits just perfectly in his palm, that soft messy hair tickling and scratching.

A low moan rumbles from Cas' mouth into his and then there are hands sliding into the small of Sam's back. The sensation pulls Sam's lips away to gasp. He wants to feel this, wants this probably more than anything ever because in a few short hours his skin won't be his any longer.

Cas doesn't smell bad to Sam, he smells like sweat and car exhaust and beer. Not sweet and heady like a woman, but dark and a little gritty, like a man should. It sort of reminds him of Dean, but there's an underlying scent that is a little indefinable, something that is pure Cas. That spark of angel that still smells a little like the air on a humid day, before the rain.

A tight grip at his back pushes him away just a shade, Cas angles his face away from the kiss and looks up at Sam, lids drifting languidly down and up again. There's something calculating in his gaze and it's like Cas is just as much an angel as he's always been. "Very well then," he says in that low rumble that still does funny things to Sam.

Those hands curve around Sam's hips, squeeze just a bit too hard and then he's being pushed and crowded back. His legs knock back against the toilet and he all but tumbles down on it. Cas' hands leave his hips, slither and tickle up over his chest, one of them curves around Sam's neck, the other cups his jaw. He drags the pad of one thumb along Sam's lower lip.

He's looking down at Sam through the veil of thick dark lashes. There's something sort of delicate about Cas' features that Sam would like to map out with his fingertips. He thinks if he were artistically inclined, he would love to paint that face, or maybe mold it out of clay. Jimmy Novak couldn't have been more perfect to house Castiel's essence.

He tilts his head up and watches as Cas shrugs out of his blazer, lets it fall to the floor behind him. His fingers go to the knot of his tie and loosens it just enough to pull it over his head. Next Sam watches those fingers, those long elegant fingers, move to the buttons of his shirt and he thinks he could watch this for hours. There's something slow and sinuous about this, not rushed and desperate like the other times.

When the shirt glides down Cas' arms he lets out a sigh, lets his lids drift closed and dips his head down. "I feel…" Cas begins and Sam thinks he may not finish. Or perhaps that was simply the full extent of the statement. "…so much more."

Something in Sam's stomach flips. Cas is feeling things now as a human does. He wants to not disappoint him. But he also wants to take so much from him, from his fine slender body, because this is it. This is the last time. He wonders what Cas will look like waking up in the mornings. If he'll develop a taste for coffee or find that he prefers keeping women in his bed. He wants to know if Cas will be a good driver and what he'll look like in a pair of jeans or if he's allergic to cats. Sam won't know any of these things, but he can know the taste of him. Know the sounds he'll make when he's blissed out and vulnerable.

Sam skims his hands up Cas' thighs and lets his palms cup his ass. It's small and firm, gorgeous under his touch. He surprises himself by how much enjoyment he can get out of Cas' body, when it never really occurred to him to want another man before. His hands slide around to unbuckle Cas' belt and the entire time he doesn't take his gaze away from the other man's face. Those lids are still shuttered, twitching just a little, but his brow is relaxed, for what seems like the first time to Sam. His lips are gently parted and soft breaths puff in and out, just sweet little sighs that Sam wants to suck in through his mouth.

With Cas' pants now open, Sam hooks his fingers into the waistband and slowly drags them down. They catch his underwear as well and they go along for the ride. Cas' cock is already half-hard and right in front of Sam's face. Without demon venom or an emotional breakdown to spur him on, it's a little bit intimidating to have another man's business right up in his face, but he soldiers on because he's never been a tease. Wrapping one firm grip around the base, he leans in and presses his tongue flat against the underside, licks a line up to the tip and Cas' hands fly out to grip his shoulders.

He takes a deep breath and dives in, slides his mouth about halfway down. The little whimper he gets from Cas makes him smirk around his mouthful and encourages him to take more. He flicks his eyes up, but from this vantage, all he sees is the underside of Cas' chin.

The weight of Cas in his mouth is surprisingly exciting. He tastes like sweat and come and just the faintest hint of that otherness he remembers from before, feels soft and hard at the same time. Instinct urges him on and he's suddenly bobbing and sucking and mapping every texture and taste with his tongue. He pulls off long enough to stroke up and down with his hand, smearing spit and come down the full length of Cas' cock, twists at the base and follows back down with his mouth.

At this point, the sounds coming from Cas are going straight to Sam's cock, groaning, panting, hot half-formed words of lust. He'd love for Cas to talk dirty to him while he takes him. Cas thrusts jerkily and Sam pulls back just in time to avoid choking. Sucking cock is not as intimidating as he thought at first. In fact, he's starting to think he's pretty good at this. When Cas' hand comes to the back of his head, urging him on, trembling and gasping, Sam can tell he's close.

He thinks it would probably be better for him to back off and finish Cas with his hand, but he can't. He wants to taste him, wants to drink him up and since this is the only chance he'll get, he grabs Cas' ass, pulls him in and sucks harder, sloppier and desperately. "Sam!" Cas groans, tightens his grip in Sam's hair and then he's pulsing, spilling into Sam's hungry mouth.

Before Sam can even attempt to take it all, Cas' knees give out and he falls to the floor. He wraps his arms around Sam, presses one cheek against his thigh and his eyelids flutter prettily. Sam lets his fingers drift soothingly through his hair as he toys with the taste on his tongue.

"Wanna take that shower now?" Sam asks, with a small smile touching his lips. Cas looks small and sated, kneeling on the cracked tiles of the bathroom floor, pretty as a goddamn picture.

"If you like," is the response he gets, but Cas turns his face, nuzzles against the bulge in Sam's jeans and gets a low groan for his efforts. Cas' shaking hands glide down and around his hips to work at the buttons of his fly. When he gets it undone and spreads it open, Cas presses his mouth against the thin material of Sam's boxers and he can feel hot breath and saliva leaking through to make his cock jerk and twitch.

"God, Cas," Sam groans and his head falls forward, his hands ghosting down that bare expanse of back, fingertips tickling the hint of crack that's still visible.

Cas' voice vibrates low against Sam's crotch and he resists the urge to thrust forward. "Would you like me to reciprocate first?" The question is punctuated with a slow lick against Sam's cloth encased flesh.

He can't hold back the urge to chuckle a little. "Wow, Cas, you're taking to this sex stuff pretty well. You're kind of filthy, you know that?"

Sam almost hates himself for saying that because Cas is pulling away, sitting back on his heels and looks a little disturbed. "I am never behaving as I should," he says with a shake of his head. "It's a good thing that I will probably die tomorrow, because I simply cannot see how I will survive as a human."

Leaning forward, Sam cups Cas' jaw in his palms. He's extremely aware that this is the closest they have come to real tenderness and it makes something in his throat tighten. There's a sting in his eyes that he blinks away before brushing his mouth over Cas' full, open lips. It's not a passionate kiss, just a chaste, sweet little touch like he hasn't shared with anyone since Jess. "You're perfect, Cas," he whispers soft into the angel's mouth. "If I had more time, I would probably fall stupidly in love with you."

When he pulls back, Cas is staring at him, eyes wide with surprise. Something in that look almost undoes Sam, something that tells him that the concept of anyone loving him leaves Cas scared and disbelieving. Honestly, he's thinking that look really breaks him and maybe he already is half in love. Sam loves too easy and this angel, because he can't think of Castiel as anything else, has given him more than the most of the people he has claimed to love.

Rather than saying anything back, Cas leans forward and curves his fingers around the back of Sam's neck, drags them down and pulls tremors and shivers out while he slides them down the tensed muscles in his chest and abs. He lays his open mouth against the hollow of Sam's throat and tongues the line of his collarbone. Sam flattens his palms against Cas' back and pulls, pulls until their chests are flush and he's reminded of the throbbing in his pants.

"What can I give you, Sam?" Cas whispers husky and rough in his ear. "I'll do anything you ask of me."

A groan of desperate want tears out of Sam and he's rising from his seat, arms clamped tight around Cas' waist. He stumbles forward, heaving the smaller man against the opposite wall, narrowly missing the towel bar. He pins Cas with his weight and mouths his way down his jaw for a tongue-sliding kiss. He pulls back to drag Cas' pants all the way off, touching as much skin as he can on his way back up that beautiful body, calves, thighs, hips and cock, already half-hard again and that's one good thing about Cas being newly human. He has the sexual constitution of a horny teenager.

"Wanna make you come again," Sam breathes out before he attacks Cas' mouth again. He grips Cas in his hand and begins pumping, firm and determined, spurred on by the breathless little groans he's tearing from that pretty fucking mouth.

Cas grasps Sam's loosely opened jeans and tugs them roughly down, along with his boxers, just far enough to free him. Sweat-slick fingers grasp him and Sam mutters a stream of vulgarities into the sandpaper-rough cheek beneath his mouth. They share handjobs until Cas is fully hard and leaking again, pumping his hips against Sam's fist. He makes a short sound of complaint when Sam releases him, only to grip his thighs and lift him up.

"Wrap your legs around me," Sam commands, voice choked with lust.

Without any shame or humility at the submissive positioning, Cas complies, also wrapping his arms around Sam's neck and bracing his weight against those broad shoulders. "Are you going to fuck me now?"

Sam moans and squeezes his eyes shut, so tight he sees dancing balls of color behind his lids. "No, no," he pants. "Want you just like this." And he's pushing forward, lining his cock up beside Cas' and trapping them between their lust-hot bodies. There's just enough sweat to make the slide easy and little enough that the catch of skin on skin creates a light friction.

It's clear from the furious push and pull pace he sets, that Sam is closer. He's been hard for too long and Cas has already come once. He tries to hold back, he really does, wants to feel the hot splash of Cas' come against his belly, but the pressure is building low and steady. Cas keeps one arm wrapped around Sam's shoulders, but slides the other down and around, grasps his ass and pulls, urges Sam hard and fast.

His grip on Cas' thighs is too hard, there might be bruises now that he's almost human, but that thought only encourages him to squeeze tighter. Thrusting erratically as his orgasm builds, he lays his teeth into Cas' shoulder and knowing that this time when he marks him, the mark will stay pushes him over the edge. In the whiteout pleasure of his release, he bites down harder and is vaguely aware of Cas crying out, jerking and following after him.

Sam sinks down to his knees, as slowly as he can. He keeps his arms wrapped tight around Cas and his face pressed into his shoulder, mindlessly sucking at the salty skin beneath his tongue. They're sticky, sweaty, trembling and now that he's slowly becoming cognizant of his surroundings, Sam realizes that he has tears leaking from his eyes.

"We should get up now," Cas says in a fuck-rough voice. "This position is putting undue stress on your muscles and joints."

Sam chuckles softly against the skin of Cas' neck, rubs his nose idly over the calming pulse point just there. "Cas," he mutters, stupidly and utterly enamored, "you're so completely awesome."

"Thank you, Sam," Cas replies and there's something in his voice that sounds a little bit like amusement. "I enjoy having sex with you too."

After some clumsy maneuvering, they both manage to get back up on their shaky legs. Sam starts the shower, dips his fingers into the spray to test the temperature, and they squeeze into the narrow space together. Sam shampoos and conditions Cas' hair for him, washes away the sweat and come with the tacky Ivory soap bar and watches dazedly as the sluicing water trickles along the lines of Cas' naked body. He washes himself with less care because he's having a tough time dragging his eyes away from the other's body.

When they're both clean, they share the spray until the water becomes cool, Sam folding himself down to drop languid kisses against Cas' mouth. Cas tilts up for each one, accepting them graciously and curiously like he doesn't understand the concept of after-sex rituals, but is willing to learn.

Sam is pretty sure that when this is all done and over with and he's down in the pit with only Lucifer to keep him company, Cas will handle his newfound humanity pretty well. He'll drink his morning coffee with too much milk and no sugar, keep both women and men in his bed because he likes sex too much to be too discerning, drive with his hands in the ten and two positions, look sexy as sin in a pair of jeans and absolutely love cats. Sam won't be around to see it, and that sucks, but that's just the way it has to be.


	5. Better on the Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel looks back at him, the light hits his face just right and from this closer perspective, Sam can now see the shine of his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set at the end of Season Six, Castiel apologizes to Sam for raising Sam from The Pit without his soul.

Scene of the crime. Sam hadn't really thought of it that way until tonight, even though the memories assault him every time he comes here to take a piss or a shower, brush his teeth or splash cool water on his face after a nightmare. He doesn't bother flicking on the light, even in the heavy blackness of night he has the entire lay-out memorized, knows exactly how many steps to take before he'd bark his shin against the lip of the tub and rattle the copper rings hanging the shower curtain.

Leaning against the doorframe, blinking through the scratch of his gritty eyes, the darkness inside is over-whelming. But if he closes his eyes, Sam can picture perfectly the soft glow of the bare bulb hitting chipped tiles, lighting the iron towel bar and standing sink fixtures. All the images perverted now by the half-hazy images of pale bare skin lapping over wiry muscle, a naked column of arching throat, short dark hair mussed by Sam's fingers.

Scene of the crime, place where he let an innocent crush turn to something truer and harsher, habitation of a love he fostered for something that never had the capacity to feel it back. Sam has made many foolish decisions, but the impact of this one is fresh and aching.

Crossing his arms around the bare skin of his torso, Sam lets himself feel the hard press of wood under his shoulder. He'd woken panting from nightmares he can't remember, mouth dry and thirsting. Stumbling from the spare bedroom, the plan was to drink mineral-heavy water straight from the faucet, but Sam had gotten hung up at the doorway, reluctant to cross the threshold.

As he stands there, Sam catches the soft murmur of voices below. He tilts his head cautiously, tries to make out the words, but even as the intonations rise and fall from quiet to heated, he can't make them out. He recognizes the voices easily enough though, Dean is arguing with Castiel downstairs.

Figures that Cas would go to make his hollow excuses to _Dean_. That just fucking figures. And hardy fucking har, Sam is Lois Lane. More like Jimmy Olsen, he's so inconsequential as to not garner more than a passing glance, let alone an explanation or an apology. Sam isn't jealous. He is positively green with bitter envy. And annoyed that his brother finds his feelings for Cas so amusing that the only response to them is careless mocking.

Sam doesn't have the heart to eavesdrop, can probably guess at what's being said anyway. He's heard all of Dean's speeches before, doubts Cas has come up with anything new since the last conversation. With a heavy and dramatic sigh, he turns away from the bathroom, decides he's not thirsty enough to return to the scene of his crime.

The spare room is barely bigger than a closet and has a twin bed that Sam's feet dangle over. He and Dean used to share the room and squeeze into the bed when they were kids, but that simply isn't possible anymore. Bobby had made some noise about getting them a bunk bed before John screwed things up with him and their frequent visits were cut off completely.

After Dean had first returned from Hell, neither of them were prepared to sleep in separate rooms. It's no longer necessary for them to share such a close space and Sam has been returned to the relative privacy of the spare room that they spent so much time in when they were younger. It's a welcome and much needed sanctuary tonight, but when Sam shuffles through the open door, he finds that it isn't empty.

In the dim light that filters through the small window, Sam can just barely make out the hunched figure seated at the edge of the bed. Castiel's head is bowed, he doesn't bother raising it when Sam enters cautiously.

"What are you doing in here, Cas," Sam asks in a voice barely above a whisper. He sounds defensive and that's appropriate enough since there's a new energy humming through his body, set somewhere between fight and flight.

For a moment, Sam is met only with silence, until finally Castiel says, "I want to apologize, though there are no words adequate enough to express my sorrow for failing you so epically."

Just barely, Sam is pacified enough for his adrenaline-fueled anger to dim. "It isn't too late, you know? You can still stop."

Castiel's bowed head finally snaps up, Sam feels pinned by a gaze he can't make out through the dimness of night. "You think I'm apologizing for working with Crowley?"

"Aren't you?" he responds, shifting far enough into the room to shut the door. If he could hear Cas and Dean speaking downstairs, it is just as likely that Dean will be able to hear them if he doesn't close them in.

"No," Castiel answers and rises off of the bed. Something in the air shifts, fills with angel made energy until Sam suddenly feels trapped in the too-small space. "I still believe that I have chosen the best option. I'm apologizing for retrieving you from Hell without your soul."

Sam swallows past the lump in his throat and looks away from the angel. He fixes his gaze on the window and watches the curtains slightly waver in the breeze of Castiel's angelic presence.

"Please believe me when I say it was not intentional. It was an oversight."

" _Oversight_?" Sam snaps and twists his head back to glare at Castiel's shadowed features. "I think it was a little bit more than a fucking _oversight_."

Castiel glances away. "Forgive me. I don't mean to make light of my failure. In all of my years of existence, I have never felt such crippling guilt as I do over this, Sam."

Sam isn't sure how his body will handle the boomeranging fluctuation of his fickle emotions, the way his anger pulses hard and tapers off so suddenly. He deflates again and doesn't fight the urge to step closer to Castiel. "I believe you," Sam admits reluctantly and hovers uncertainly at the edge of Castiel's personal space.

Castiel looks back at him, the light hits his face just right and from this closer perspective, Sam can now see the shine of his eyes. "I'm sorry, Sam. So sorry. I will never be able to redeem myself for all of the years of unnecessary suffering you endured, but I needed you to know that it was not intentional."

Something in Sam breaks under the fervency of Castiel's words, the pleading in his eyes. He remembers too well the weight of his own guilt, a heavy burden that will never go away even after all he sacrificed to make up for his mistakes. Sam thinks he might understand, for the first time ever, exactly what the angel is feeling.

The urge to touch becomes too much to resist and Sam steps closer, raises his hand to palm Castiel's stubbly face, sweeps the pad of his thumb along the line of his cheekbone. Castiel sighs under his touch, his eyelids fluttering prettily. "I used to think redemption was impossible too, Cas. But it's not. Stop working with Crowley. It's not too late for you."

Castiel's eyes widen and he jerks away from Sam so quickly that he sways in surprise. The angel has nearly flattened himself against the wall to get away from Sam, something in his eyes looking both exasperated and hunted. "What form of bribery are you offering here, Sam? Your forgiveness or the comfort of your body? Both are quite tempting, but easy enough to resist when I know you no longer want me."

Sam blinks stupidly in surprise, unsure of which accusation to address first. And there's that punch of anger again, only this time blended with pure confusion and a little bit of insulted pride. "Bribery? I'm not trying to bribe you! And what the fuck do you mean that I don't want you? I _never_ stopped wanting you."

"Really?" Castiel responds with a cynical twist to his tone. "Because you spurned my advances without much difficulty."

Brow furrowed with intense confusion, Sam glares at Castiel. Why he ever thought he could understand the thoughts of an angel, he will never know. "Advances? What the hell are you even talking about? I'm pretty sure I would have noticed if you were hitting on me."

Cas rolls his eyes and huffs like Sam is the stupid one here. "You declined my offer of physical contact when you first returned."

"Wait, are you talking about that ridiculous attempt at a _hug_?"

"I'm sorry you found it so ridiculous. I am obviously not as nuanced in physical intimacy as you are," Cas throws back, rolling his shoulders in a way that reminds Sam eerily of a bird ruffling its feathers.

Speaking of ridiculous, that is exactly what this conversation has become. Shaking his head irritably, Sam advances again, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction when Castiel nervously shies away, bumping back into the wall. Once he's near enough, Sam slams his palms against the wall, bracketing the angel between the tense lines of his arms.

"You little idiot," Sam growls, temporarily ignoring how Castiel's proximity flushes his body with excitement. "I _declined your offer_ because I couldn't afford to get distracted. I needed answers and if I had let you touch me, I would have bent you over that table and fucked you senseless. Neither one of us would have been in any condition for a conversation."

Cas' mouth, that pretty fucking mouth, falls open, but Sam is completely disinterested in anything he might say. He lunges forward, trapping Castiel's lips in a bruising kiss. Cas lets it happen, accepts Sam's sweeping tongue like a welcome offering, sucks it in and slicks it with his own. They eat at each other's mouths hungrily, tongues and teeth battling for dominance.

When Cas' hands come up to palm Sam's cheeks, he takes it for the invitation it is, clamping his arms around Cas and heaving him up enough to make the height difference more manageable. They get lost in the kiss for full minutes, but the heat remains, each swipe of tongue and nip of teeth fueled by an angry, mean kind of lust that has Sam dizzy with want while he pins Cas with his weight. Cas could break away easily, but doesn't bother with it, just tilts his head and demands with the arch of his back, twisting fingers in Sam's hair.

The need for breath becomes unbearable, Sam's lungs tightened just as much as every other part of him. His cock is full with need, crushing into the flat of Castiel's belly, hips rocking mindlessly for some friction. Mouthing along the rough edge of Castiel's jaw, Sam stops right at the soft pliant flesh of the angel's earlobe and gives it a nip. "Let me fuck you," he demands lowly, licking slow and dirty around the shell of Cas' ear.

Cas gives him a sexy groan that sounds like consent and just like that, Sam is tearing away the ugly trenchcoat and blazer, tossing them carelessly to the floor. He swoops in for another sloppy kiss, every nerve tingling in anticipation, cock aching for relief. Fumbling open Cas' pants, his hands push roughly under the hem of shirt to get at burning hot skin, gripping so tightly it would bruise someone weaker.

He's muttering Cas' name over and over into the plush, wet lips against his own. Sam shoves Cas' trousers down to mid-thigh and blindly spins them in the direction of the bed, roughly twists Cas around and pins him face-first to the mattress. The bedsprings creak eerily to join the soundtrack of their panting gasps and needy moans.

Planting a restraining hand on the small of Cas' back, Sam pulls back enough to look down. One of Cas' legs is dangling over the edge of the bed, the pale skin of his ass is bared to Sam's heavy stare, looking soft and inviting and like everything Sam could possibly want. Sam needs to get him wet enough to take his cock, so without much forethought, he falls to his knees, spreads Cas' cheeks and licks.

The soft whine he gets in response clears Sam's thoughts just enough so he'll remember every swipe and suck he places on Cas' hole. Cas tastes cleaner here than any other person Sam has done this for, tastes almost like nothing, like hot skin and secret places. Flattening his tongue right where it counts, Sam lets the saliva pool up and slide out, wets Cas up. The sounds are filthy, smacking, sucking sounds that join Cas' desperate moans. His grip tightens on Cas and Sam wriggles the tip of his tongue right past the outer rim until it's as far in as he can get it without unhinging his jaw.

Cas is quivering under the new sensations and Sam would grin if he could. Instead he adds a finger to the mix, curving and seeking until he hits the slight swell of Cas's prostate. Cas bucks so furiously that Sam's tongue is completely dislodged. It's just as well, because if Sam doesn't get inside him soon, Sam is going to come in his boxers.

He has to catch his breath for a second, pants harshly into the spread of Cas' thighs and once his dizzy head is cleared a little, Sam spits onto his fingers, works another in, then another, too quickly for Cas to really adjust. The angel doesn't need to be stretched, Sam knows this from the first time they fucked, but he wants him as slick as spit will get him.

"Ready?" Sam asks, letting his cheek fall against the rise of Cas' ass.

"Yes, do it. Do it," Cas tells him, spreads his legs as much as he can, hampered as he is by the pants waistband.

Sam scrambles up, gets one knee planted on the mattress, pushes his boxers down just enough to free his dick. The spit is cool, but still wet when he nudges the head against Cas. Bracing himself up on his arms, Sam slides in, slow and deep, all the way in. Cas is just as tight and hot as Sam remembers, clenching and fluttering around the invasion of Sam's cock.

Now that he's inside, the brisk needy pace that Sam first set has slowed. He wants to savor the feel, Cas' grip on him, the sight of the angel wrecked and needy under him. He wants to punish the angel with his lust, worship with his thrusting hips. Sam is nearly naked, Cas is nearly clothed. Both are trembling and shaking, both are rolling their hips slowly, both sighing their moans.

Sam lowers himself to his forearms, hooking them under Cas' shoulders. He gets his mouth right up by Cas' ear and puts it to work, licking and sucking and biting. "Pretty angel," he whispers so quiet, pushing deep in, barely pulling out before he's back again. "Pretty, stupid angel. Never stopped wanting you."

One of Sam's feet is still on the floor, giving him just the right amount of leverage to thrust deep and hard, meet his pelvis with the flexing jump of Cas' ass. There's a rough tearing sound and Sam pulls back just enough to see that Cas has ripped the sheets he's fisting. The angel has his face smashed into the mattress, muffling the sexy sounds punching out of him with each in-stroke.

It's a sinuous, writhing build between them and Sam can feel the clutch of Cas' body going straight down to his toes. He lets the pull take him until he can't handle the slow, steady pace anymore. Sam rides Cas faster and faster, slamming his cock as deep as he can. His forehead falls into the soft mess of Cas' hair, breathes that staticy scent deep into his lungs until he wants to keep it there forever, keep Cas beneath and around him always.

"Sam, please," Cas begs roughly, sounding just as wrecked and ruined as Sam wants him. The angel releases the sheets and grabs at Sam's wrist, guides his hand down. Sam accepts his urging and stops bearing down enough to get his hand under Cas.

Cas cries out and slams back against Sam's next thrust when fingers close around the rock hard base of his cock. "Yes," Cas hisses out. "Fuck me, Sam. Harder, faster."

Sam can take direction well, and besides, he wants that too. Speeding up, he fucks into Cas' tight ass more roughly than he should, but Cas just opens up and takes it, takes it so good Sam could weep. Cas' dick slides through the ring of Sam's fingers with each rutting stroke, growing harder and harder with each pass until Cas spasms and spills out with a muffled shout.

That coiling heat in Sam's belly builds and builds as he frantically shoves in and in and in until it snaps and Sam is shooting off with a shaky sigh. He pulses over and over, slicking Cas with his come and easing the slide of his final thrusts.

Sam collapses against Cas' back, trembling and choking on every inhale. His mouth is full of Cas' hair, his nose smashed into the angel's skull, scenting the light tang of sex-sweat. They lie spent, coming down from their orgasms, breathing harshly for just a minute.

"This changes nothing," Castiel finally breaks the silence.

"I didn't expect it to," Sam answers, his annoyance creeping back in now that the sexual tension has been calmed. He pulls out of Cas with a slight hiss at the tug on his sensitive flesh. "You're beautiful, Cas, but you're not the brightest star in the Heavens."

Sam falls back against the mattress, his head fetched up against the wall and twisted uncomfortably on his neck. He tugs his boxers back over his softened dick and in the blink of an eye, Cas is off the bed, fully clothed and wavering slightly by the door. "I don't expect you to understand," Cas responds feebly, but there is a raw sadness to his tone that tightens Sam's chest in sympathy.

"Oh, I understand perfectly. I had a devil whispering in my ear too. I think we both remember how well that turned out."

When Sam looks over at Cas, he's staring blankly at the wall. "I must go. If you have need of me, pray for me, and I will try to come."

"Yeah, well, don't hold your breath," Sam bites out, cringing a little at how much he sounds like Dean. Not that it matters much. Castiel has disappeared, leaving the curtains dancing in the breeze of his departure.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Climbing Walls 'Verse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/350712) by [heardtheowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heardtheowl/pseuds/heardtheowl), [orbiting_saturn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbiting_saturn/pseuds/orbiting_saturn)




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